The Ruthless

When Lord Rochant was reborn, he would don this armour. Each piece was grown alongside its vessel so that it would fit perfectly. The trouble was that contact with the crystal seemed to cause Satyendra physical pain. His skin would pale and bubble, losing its colour, and his face would—

No. None of them could stand that. She hoped that when Lord Rochant’s soul took residence it would purge all traces of the Wild from the body, and all evidence that her son had been corrupted. Until then, however, the armour still needed to be grown and so Chandni had come up with another solution: Pik.

Only one Gardener-smith was here and she didn’t look happy about it. As Pik began slipping off his clothes, she came over to Chandni, rubbing her hands together like a nervous Flykin.

‘How much longer?’

‘This may well be the last time. The High Lord is coming. If he is happy with Satyendra then the rebirth will happen immediately. Wrath’s Tear is in ascendance and we don’t want to miss the opportunity.’

‘And if he isn’t happy?’

‘Then it will wait until he is.’

‘But—’

Chandni’s scowl cut her off. ‘Our arrangement hasn’t changed. I’ve always provided appropriate substitutes for the fittings and you have been well compensated for your understanding, not to mention my discretion over your own failings. I have not betrayed your secrets, I am sure you can do me the same courtesy.’

The Gardener-smith glanced at Pik. ‘The size is right, for now anyway. This lad will outgrow yours in another year.’

‘In a year this will be well behind us.’ Please let it be behind us.

‘But what about the bond?’

It was seen by the Gardener-smiths as a sacred triangle: the Deathless soul, the perfect vessel, and the crystal skin. Each was connected to the other and together they were strong. ‘This boy shares my blood, that will have to be enough.’

The Gardener-smith grumbled but picked up a bracer from the stand and placed it carefully on Pik’s forearm. Then, with a false nail on her little finger, she pricked his hand, touching a daub of blood to the crystal to wake it.

It felt wrong to stay and watch, and so Chandni retreated to the entrance of the chamber. She hadn’t been there long when a young guard arrived at speed. It was a few moments before he could speak but she already knew what he was going to say by the manner of his arrival and the strained look in his eyes.

‘Honoured Mother, High Lord Yadavendra is here. He wants to see you and Lord Rochant’s Honoured Vessel immediately.’

‘Tell him we are just having a fitting and will be with him shortly.’ She gave a moment of silent appreciation to Roh. ‘Tell him we have food prepared and will send it to him while he waits.’

‘Forgive me, Honoured Mother. The High Lord is aware of the fitting. When I say he is here, I mean he is following right behind. The captain knows how much you hate surprises so he sent me ahead.’

Her heart began to thud heavily in her chest. ‘Give the captain my thanks. Now guard this door and don’t let anyone in until we’re ready, not even the High Lord, do you understand?

‘Honoured Mother?’

‘Do as I say!’ she snapped, and rushed back into the chamber.

When his mother had left, Satyendra counted to a hundred in his mind, making sure to pause between each number. One of the many annoying things about being an Honoured Vessel was that it was hard to go anywhere without being noticed. And nobody could know what he was about to do.

He pushed himself off from the back of the wardrobe and listened through the door. There were no sounds and no shadows visible through the frosted glass. He opened it a crack and listened again before stepping out.

From under the bed he pulled out a simple grey cloak with blue trim and some trousers. The cloak he’d stolen from Pik on a previous visit, and the trousers he’d traded for with one of the apprentice hunters. He changed quickly, pulling the hood as far forward as it would go, then practised walking up and down a few times. He allowed his head to dip a little and modified his stride to make it slower, mimicking the way he’d seen Pik move.

If those idiots in the castle were willing to believe that Pik was him, then it would be easy to reverse the illusion. There were risks, certainly, but Satyendra rarely got to roam about the castle freely.

The guards outside looked surprised when he emerged from the room. ‘Finished already?’

He didn’t reply immediately, not wanting to appear too clever. When he did, his voice sounded almost identical to Pik’s usual whine. ‘No, forgot my sponge.’

They laughed at that. ‘Better hurry then. When the Honoured Mother gets back, she’ll expect everything to be spotless.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed, and turned away.

Once out of their sight, he made his way quickly towards the lower-mid level of the castle, where the apprentice hunters slept. By now all of the apprentices would be training, leaving the rooms free for him to explore. Each one contained four bunks and a single gemlight. Sacks were slung from each end of the bunk, containing their possessions. Satyendra moved between them, searching for things he might need.

If the High Lord can’t be put off, this could be my last chance.

A knife took his fancy. The handle was carved from wood, highly polished, with settings for gemstones. Even unfinished, it would be desired in the markets.

He already had a knife stashed away, but it was a blunt one stolen from the kitchens. This one was much nicer. He tucked it away and continued to rummage, taking anything that might help him effect an escape, along with anything he liked the look of. He was far greedier than normal, and more reckless.

They’ll never suspect me as the thief, and even if I’m caught what can they do? I’m too important to exile or hurt.

With his treasures hidden within his cloak, he made his way towards one of the quieter areas of the castle, a little courtyard that had once been used by Samarku Un-Sapphire to cultivate a rare type of flower called Dawn’s Blush. Since Lord Rochant’s arrival it had been abandoned and left to grow wild.

Why the courtyard hadn’t been maintained or repurposed was not spoken about, but Satyendra liked to think it was an act of pure pettiness. A little shoot of spite in Lord Rochant’s otherwise perfect record.

Whatever the reason, the resulting neglect had led to the creation of Satyendra’s favourite hiding place. Nobody else went there, and it was easy to slip within the net of tanglevine and become anonymous. Years ago, when he had faced up to the idea that the rebirth ceremony could not be put off forever, he had begun preparing for the day he might have to flee the castle. This meant gathering supplies: clothes, food, tools, all the things he’d need to survive alone on the road.

The problem was he’d no idea what those things were. Apart from his adventures in the Wild as a baby, he’d never left Lord Rochant’s floating castle.

His mother was coy about that time, but he’d gleaned that road-born who ventured outside of their villages had to wear special clothes, and that they covered their feet, face and hands at all times. When he had exhausted his patience with her, he’d turned to Story-singer Ban, asking about hunts and travel, and then attacking the old man with questions. However, this proved frustrating, as the Deathless were not troubled by simple issues like needing to eat or sleep outside, and if they were, the practical details were dropped in favour of a ‘higher truth’.

Armed with some meagre facts and his imagination, Satyendra had set about gathering what he thought would be needed. Over time, he strategically started to lose things: tops, trousers, even boots, until he had an impressive stash tucked away.

He carefully opened up his hiding place, adding the knife and the other new acquisitions before covering it all up again and slipping back towards his room.

When he arrived the guards seemed relieved to see him, as if they were expecting someone else, someone worse, and there was a strange vibe in the air as he travelled, a tension that made his mouth water.

Yadavendra is here, and he was both cheered and appalled at the thought. It was easier to feed that other part of himself when the High Lord was around which also meant it was harder to resist. He’d told himself in the courtyard when he’d dislocated Chunk’s knee – the pop still resonated deliciously in his mind – that it would be the last time. He tried to remember that he could also enjoy other things, like his mother’s praise. He resolved to resist. To stay focused on the matter at hand: to cancel the rebirth ceremony or escape the castle.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.